"Yes," she answered, "if his name is Buggle." "His name _is_ Buggle," said Lady Maria, "and we are saved." But five minutes later the cook herself appeared at the morning-room door.

She was a stout person, who panted, and respectfully removed beads of perspiration from her brow with a clean handkerchief.
She was as nearly pale as a heated person of her weight may be.
"And what has happened now, cook ?" asked Lady Maria.
"That Buggle, your ladyship," said cook, "says your ladyship can't be no sorrier than he is, but when fish goes bad in a night it can't be made fresh in the morning.

He brought it that I might see it for myself, and it is in a state as could not be used by any one.

I was that upset, your ladyship, that I felt like I must come and explain myself." "What _can_ be done ?" exclaimed Lady Maria.

"Emily, _do_ suggest something." "We can't even be sure," said the cook, "that Batch has what would suit us.